The New Riders: A Legacy Continued
by Yaela Svit-kona
Summary: This is a continuation of inheritance. New Riders, relationships, betrayals, AryaxEragon, and loads of fluff! Please read, I would love your opinions. My second fanfic.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first Inheritance fanfic and the second one I've ever written. The first sucked, I scrapped it. :P**

**So, this is just like a prologue. I'd love reviews, and I hope you like this story!**

Kira bounced up and down on the end of her fathers' bed. 'Hurry _up_, Dad!'

Bergan emerged from the library, holding a thick scroll in hand. "Calm down, calm down, its right here!' the head of the Arcaena laughed.

Kira snatched it from him so fast her hand was a blur. She was about to rush to her room when her father stopped her.

'Kira.' His deep voice was serious. 'Be careful with it; it's a very rare and valuable copy, over a thousand years old. It contains extracts from the Shadeslayers' and Arya Dröttningus' diaries. People would kill for it. I'm trusting you, the council had no idea I'm letting you read it. Understand?'

Kira paused, her spirits momentarily dampened by her fathers' words and a tinge of awe. She ducked her head. 'I promise I'll take care of it, Dad.'

Her father smiled, allowing her to bound up to her room. She jumped onto her bed so hard she actually bounced back up into the air. She eagerly unrolled the scroll.

'**The defeat of the Black King and the life of Eragon Shadeslayer.' **

The words marched across the top of the scroll in elegant, bold letters. Kira gently let her fingers trail over the words. She'd read the shorter version of this, the childrens' version; now _finally _she was going to be allowed to read the adult version.

She ran a finger down the scroll, muttering, 'Hatching, boring, training, boring, the Varden, violent, Durza, yeah, yeah, the seige, boring, defeat, heard of it, blah blah blah; yes! The New Riders!'

She settled down to read. She knew it wouldn't be a dry and tasteless account of events. It would be alive and warm and real, full of emotions and humor and relationships. That was why she was so excited to read it!

Her eyes fell on the portrait of the Shadeslayer. Tall and regal, he stood with his sword resting point down on the ground, his hands resting lightly on the pommel. He had a captivating smile on his face, and the warmth from the smile had only just reached his light brown eyes, showing that he also possesed force of bearing and a hint of ruthlessness. His hair was a deep chocolate, curling over his intelligent brow, with hints of gold as the light from the setting sun hit the left side of his face. He wore a simple yellow tunic belted at the waist with black leggings and a royal blue cloak embroidered with silver. The light caught his face in such a way that it showed off his high, rounded cheekbones, rendering him even more handsome. He stood with his back to a range of snowcapped mountains. Kira sighed with longing; even as a portrait he was enchanting! The caption said that this portrait had been when he was thirty seven years old.

Next was a portrait of Arya Dröttningu. Technically she was Arya Dröttning, but that had been for such a short time that it was rarely counted. She wore a light white dress with flowing sleeves that reached her wrists. A delicate golden girdle set with jade encircled her waist. A similar circlet bound her long hair back just enough to stop it falling on her face, but it still fell across her shoulders, dark and lustrous. Her deep green eyes sparkled, and her lips were full and light red, curving up in a light smile that was not enough to dispel the air of comman about her. Everything about her was perfect, from her nose and cheekbones to her lissom figure. She looked everything she had been; elegant, beautiful, dignified. She stood in a position similar to the Shadeslayers', her hands resting on Támerliens' pommel. Kira sighed again; of course, with someone like her around, there was no way he would have looked at any other woman. And she had to admit that they were extraordinarily suited for each other.

She shook herself; she only had a limited time to read the scroll. Her father needed it back tomorrow, and she could not waste this precious time mooning over portraits, though she yearned to devour the portraits of Bjartskular and Thorn and Murtagh and Nasuada and Fírnen and Stronghammer and Katrina and Angela and Elleya and Glenwing the second and Evandar the second and Angela the Second and Orrin and Orik and Yaela, the Fallen one and Blödhgarm, the Lovelorn One and Maya, the Silver Rider and Kitai, the Golden Rider and Këyal, the Blood Rider and- Aaaaaarrghh! She could not! But maybe if she finished reading quickly-

She let her eyes fall on the first line.

"_After leaving Alagäesia, the Shadeslayer and the Bjartskular travelled southeast with their company of nine elves until . . ." _


	2. Chapter 1 : Reunion

**A/N:Hmm. This one is kinda long. I'm still not perfectly satisfied with it. **_**Please**_** tell me anything you think is wrong, even if the tiniest of nothings. I need to be a better writer!**

†

Eragon stood at the doors to the Hall, waiting for- There! A spark of green fire arced through the azure heavens. Eragon could hardly contain his joy. Finally, he was going to meet Arya in person after three years! Finally, the turmoil in his heart would be resolved . . . one way or another. Finally, the new generation of Riders was here!

It took a lot of effort to restrain himself from whooping with joy and rushing down to meet them, but he did. Saphira, however, was not that controlled. She gave a tremendous bugle of exultation and reared up, though she managed to keep herself on the ground. Her joy increased his own. Looking around at the elves, he saw that they too had expressions of beautiful joy and excitement on their refined faces.

The green spark seemed to divide into four more; a red one, a brown one, a black one, and a pink one, all glittering in the morning light. Wait . . . a pink dragon? His brow furrowed. Had he given Arya a pink dragon egg?

Well, anyway, he or she was a dragon, part of a new hope. Color wouldn't be a bar.

The dragons were quite close now. He could see them more clearly. All of them except the red one had the gangly look of youth. And he could see Arya! A gold circlet gleaming on her brow, her hair flying back, her eyes gleaming with inexpressible joy, back in the same dark shirt and pants she used to wear among the Varden, still looking as perfect as the day he had first seen her . . . his heart did a completely involuntary flip and ended up somewhere in his throat. Mirror conversations were never the same, and she had always seemed so, well . . . brusque, distant, whenever he had talked to her. And he had rarely been able to talk, what with the construction of the Hall and dealing with the natives . . . He composed himself. Time enough to moon over Arya; right now he had to concentrate on not leaping down the steps like a madman.

The wind from the dragons' wings now whipped up clouds of dust, and a . . . well . . . thunderous sound was caused by the beating of the thunders' wings. _(a thunder of dragons) _They touched down. Arya leapt down lightly from Fírnens' back before his wings had even stopped flapping and ran to stand in front of Eragon, her face still suffused with excitement and joy. The five-day trip from Alagaësia had not tired her at all.

'Shadeslayer.' She bowed slightly.

'Shadeslayer.' He bowed in return, grinning. She let out the most carefree laugh he had ever heard her give and then - to his surprise - hugged him. He gladly returned the embrace, though he was a little mystified. When had she suddenly become so casual?

Far above them, Saphira and Fírnen were having their own reunion and spared little thought for their partners.

She pulled back a little to look into his face. 'You're taller!' she exclaimed. 'My eyes are on level with your nose.'

He smiled. 'Well, three years have had their effect upon me.'

Her smile suddenly faltered. He thought he almost heard her say, 'Upon me as well.'

Actually, now that the happiness had drained from her face, he could see that she was looking tired and worn.

'I apologise, did I say something wrong, Svit-Kona?' he asked hesitantly.

A shadow crossed her face when he said that, but almost immediately the smile was back in place. 'Of course not!' But she still stepped away from him. Maybe she was embarrassed to hug him in front of the young Riders? All of whom, he now noted, were staring at them curiously.

Arya moved to greet the elves, and Eragon scrutinised the new Riders. The pink dragon seemed to be matched with a slender, snow-white maiden of fifteen summers. She had burnished gold hair, deep purple eyes, and rosy, delicate lips; in short, she was guaranteed to knock out any man at twenty paces. She blushed slightly under his gaze. Nevertheless, she did not avert her eyes, and there was a definite sense of strength about her. Anyone who underestimated her because of her looks would speedily discover his or her mistake. She reminded Eragon of Nasuada. And Elva as well, with those beautiful yet haunting purple eyes.

The elf seemed to be paired with the ruby-red dragon looming up behind him. He was quite young; Eragon judged him to be around thirty years old. He still retained some of the silvery sheen of elvish youth. His hair was raven black, straight and well-cut, and his eyes were a bright green, lighter than Aryas'. He was handsome, as all elves were; but there was something familiar about him. Maybe the curve of his mouth, the lift of his eyebrows . . . ? They reminded Eragon of-

'May I introduce the Riders, Eragon?'

He started slightly. 'Please do, Arya.' he replied hastily. _Saphira, listen! _Saphira grudgingly disengaged herself from Fírnen. _The Riders don't look like much, _she sniffed.

_And the dragons?_

_Young, but they will be great. They _are_ dragons, after all._

_Of course._

_Was that sarcasm?_

'Osra, step forward, please.' The young Urgal complied. Her horns were polished and delicate, despite their size. Her hair was long and lustrous, braided into a thick black rope that swung by her hips, and her eyes were a deep, translucent blue.

'Firesword.' She bared her throat. He did likewise, smiling,'I'm very pleased you're here, Osra. The first Urgal Rider!'

She smiled as well. 'Yes. My uncle was very proud. He bade me give you his greetings.'

'Your uncle . . . ?'

'Nar Garzhvog,' she clarified.

'Ah! I'm glad he remembered me.' And indeed, he was. Nar Garzhvog was a good warrior and a good person, someone he was glad to know.

_She will make her uncle proud, I think, _said Saphira. Eragon agreed, noting the Urgals' air of determination.

'May I introduce my dragon, Mánya,' she said. The brown dragon beside her took a heavy step forward.

Eragon opened his mind to Mánya, and she said _I'm very glad to meet you, Shadeslayer. I hope I learn much from you and Saphira-ebrithil._

Eragon felt pride at being adressed as ebrithil flow into him from Saphira. He ignored her and answered Mánya, 'I hope you will as well, Mánya-finiarel. I am truly glad that Osra-finiarel has such a perfect match.'

Mánya did not answer. She simply allowed her pleasure to be felt, and then stepped back. Saphira repeated the exchange, brushing her snout along the pairs' foreheads.

_A pair of few words, that, _commented Saphira.

_Aye. But if they learn and work well, that will not matter. _

The next was Ravûn and his black dragon. Ravûn was a dwarf of five-and-twenty with curly chestnut hair, laughing grey eyes, a rather handsome face, and a lively spirit. Just seeing him would brighten up anyone's day. His dragon was smaller than usual, to adapt to his (or her) Riders' stature.

'Greetings, Argetlam! We are very pleased to be here!' Eragon could not doubt that; the boy veritably buzzed with enthusiam. He could feel a responding smile spreading across his own face.

'I'm glad to hear that, Ravûn. May I know which clan you are from?'

The dwarfs face fell a bit. 'Az Swelden rak Anhûin.' he answered softly.

'Ah, I see.' No wonder he looked so crestfallen- he had probably been ostracised from his clan for becoming a Rider. Eragon clapped his shoulder and tried to look as encouraging as possible; he sincerely liked this dwarf and wanted him to be happy. 'Never mind, you will find a new family with us. Do not doubt yourself.' Ravûn nodded, seeming heartened.

'May I know your name now, please?' Eragon adressed the dragon.

_My name is Dreya, Shadeslayer, _a deep, female voice announced.

Eragon blinked. He had been expecting a male.

_I've no doubt you were, Argetlam, _came the dry response.

'My apologies, Dreya-finiarel. I did not mean to insult you.'

A sense of acceptance came from her. That pair was rather strange . . . a lively, confident, cheerful Rider together with a sarcastic, bold, wary dragon; but they balanced each other out. Saphira repeated the exchange.

The third Rider was the beauty. She smiled as she spoke in a strong, confident voice. 'My name is Zelíe, Shadeslayer. I'm from Belatona. And this-' she gestured to the pink drgon, 'is Rosalie. We both are very excited to be here.' And he just could not doubt her. She was so confident, so forthright, he could tell instantly that she would never lie, not even to console someone. Eragon wondered what she had had to go through to become this person, soemone who was always just slightly defiant, slightly wary; and at such a young age!

He answered, 'I'm glad to know that, Zelíe. I hope we live up to your expectations.' He then opened his mind to Rosalie and said, 'And yours as well, Rosalie.'

She responded, _Thank you, Shadeslayer._ She was quieter, her mind-voice clear yet demure; but she was just as strong as Zelíe. _Woe betide those who cross her path, _Eragon thought dryly.

_Indeed._ Saphira then proceeded to repeat the exchange again.

The last pair consisted of the familiar elf and his ruby dragon. He stepped forward, twisting his hand over his sternum.

'Atra esterní ono thelduin, Argetlam.'

'Atra du evarínya ono varda, . . . ?'

'Këyal,' he supplied. 'Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr.'

'Eka elrun ono, Këyal-finiarel.'

Këyal bowed, a slight smile lifting his face. Eragon continued,'I'm very glad you're here.'

'It has been my dream, Argetlam.'

Eragon hesitated. 'Pardon me, but you seem familiar. Did I perchance see you at the Ageatí Blödhren, or perhaps in Ellesmera . . .?'

'No, Argetlam. But you are familiar with my brother, Vanir.'

'Ah, of course. How is he getting along?' That was why! Këyal was quite similar to Vanir; he had the same air of arrogance that Vanir used to have. _There'll be trouble with him before we're through._

'Quite well. He enjoys his work and has great respect for Queen Nasuada and King Grimmr.' Eragon did not miss the omission of Orrins' name. He also noticed Aryas' brief amusement and the other students' looks of chagrin at his apparent familiarity with Këyal.

'I see.' He smiled as he adressed the dragon. 'May I know your name?'

_My name is Layla, Argetlam! _ chimed a cheerful female voice. Just those five words had Eragon grinning like an idiot fox. Layla was even happier than Ravûn! And he liked her name. It made sense, seeing as the name for 'ruby' in the ancient language was 'laeil'.

'Glad to know you, Layla! If I'd known you were so enthusiastic to meet us, I would have given you a better reception-'

_Oh no, this is wonderful! To meet you and Saphira-ebrithil and all these talented spellcasters. . . . Këyal has been going on about meeting them for ages._

Eragon laughed. 'Well then, we will go inside, where you may meet your celebrities in greater comfort, Këyal.' The elf looked mortified and gratified at once. He swatted Laylas' leg.

Eragon took a deep breath. He hoped that what he was about to say next was not too forward, and that it struck a chord, and that his students – strange to think that, _his_ _students_ – would not resent him . . .

_Calm down, little one._

_Yes. I can do this. It's easy. I defeated Galbatorix, how hard can this be?_

Spahira rolled her eyes. Eragon mentally stuck his tongue out at her and then raised his voice to adress all of them at once.

'Before we enter the Hall, I wish to speak to you. There are some things you should know.

'Your training will extend for a period of about eight years. Six, if you have completed tuatha du orothim with Arya Dröttning. The next batch of Riders will be here in three years, which means that you will help with their training as well. A lot of dragon lore has been lost in the hundred-odd years during which Galbatorix held sway-' the dragons hissed in unison at the name of the Black King, '-but the world has changed, and we must relearn. I do not mean that we will not have help; at this very moment, we have over a thousand boooks in our library, copies of the best in human, elven, and dwarven literature. We even have copies of some books written by Riders, and those especially will guide us.

'Now, a few rules. You four are the beginning of a new hope, and so must behave as such. It will not do to have you seen quarrelling or fighting in public; that will disturb people, make them fearful. At the Hall, you will treat all of us with respect. You may address Saphira and I as ebrithil in the ancient language and as master in this one, naught else. These-' he gestured to the elves in turn,'- are Blödhgarm-elda, Yaela-elda, Invidia-elda, Othün-elda, Talía-elda, Ayana-elda, Zayn-elda, Rëya-elda, and Zoë-elda. They are at the very least four times your age and are all accomplished spellweavers and warriors. You will treat them with utmost courtesy and do the same amongst yourselves. You are all different from each other, which is well; it signifies an equal beginning for all the races in the shaping of the fate of Alagäesia. But keep in mind that your fellow Riders may have different beliefs or values; accept them, or, at the very least, do not challenge them before understanding them.

'Here at the Hall, you will learn magic, diplomacy, the customs of each race, swordfighting, archery, science, medicine, mindblocking, and much more. Saphira and I will do our best to teach you; keep in mind that we are not very much older than you. Two of you are older than us!' Eragon smiled ruefully. 'But we have been through far more than you have ever dreamed of, and so we make up for our years by possessing what you don't- experience. If we are failing to fulfill the standards you expect of us, feel free to say so. But-' he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice,'-we expect some effort on your part as well.

'You will work hard and quickly, for Alagäesia needs you as soon as possible. You will _not underestimate your importance. _You are the Riders, continuing a legacy of thousands of years. This is not a burden to be borne lightly. I had to bear it when I was but sixteen, and I fully intend on inflicting it upon you.' He smiled slightly, and his students relaxed as slightly.

'The Riders were teachers, healers, and helpers, not just warriors. They were respected, not feared. Understand the difference; we do not need another Galbatorix.' The dragons hissed again, and the younglings looked indignant. 'I do not mean that I think you will, be, but I wish to make my position clear to you all. I have no wish to be your enemy. I want to like you and get to know you, to be your teacher and your friend. And I hope-' he now smiled warmly,'-that that will happen.'

'Now, we will eat, I'm sure you all must be tired from the trip. Today, you may all rest. Tomorrow, I will talk to you and clarify any doubts you may have about being a Rider.'

_What about the armoury? Their swords? _Saphira asked.

He hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at her. 'Also, if you wish, we can visit the armoury. We recovered hundreds of Riders swords, atleast one will be sure to fit you. But it can wait until tomorrow . . .'

'May we please see today?' asked Osra eagerly.

'Yes, of course. But for now, come in. You all must be starving.'

Everyone relaxed. The Riders streamed into the Hall, concentrating on reaching food as fast as possible. The others followed at a more leisurely pace. Arya walked next to Eragon, murmuring,'Well done, ebrithil!' He chuckled in response.

"It's an impressive castle you have constructed.' she continued.

'Yes it is, isn't it?' He turned his head to absorb the sight of her beautiful eyes;

And nearly walked into Ayana, who was trying to peer over Zayns' broad shoulders. There seemed to be a holdup. He pushed his way to the front of the new Riders, worried that something had happened; but they were just staring at the Tower. Osra and Zelíe were standing stockstill, awestruck. The boys were a bit more composed, having seen or heard of such structures, but even they could not hide their stunned expressions. He sighed with relief, glad that nothing worse had happened.

The Hall was a massive building that, even with the elves' magic and the abundant resources in the new land, had taken all of two years to erect on top of the cliff, Ilianbaen. It faced west, towards Alagäesia. Its northern side faced uncharted jungles, lakes, mountains and wastelands. Its southern and eastern sides faced the ocean. It was made of a smooth, banded material that seemed to be between wood and stone. All the entrances and passageways were large enough to admit dragons the size of Glaedr, in preperation for future Riders and the growth of their dragons. There were over a thousand rooms including the training room, armoury, Dragon Room, kitchen, and dining hall, spread out over the North and South wings that flanked the Tower.

The Tower was a huge, cylindrical stucture that was nearly as large as Farthen Dûr. It was open to the sky to allow dragons easy passage. It had a cover for when the weather was violent, but even with the cover closed, it was large enough to allow several dragons flying space. Softly glowing Erisdar were dotted around its inner wall. Right now, it was open, allowing a thick shaft of light to enter and illuminate the motes of dust floating in the air.

The base of the Tower had a . . . garden was too insufficient a word. Jungle might be closer. It was divided into quadrants by white marble paths, again, big enough for Belgabad. The northeastern and southeastern quadrants were where all the crops and fruits were grown; maize, wheat, rice, cotton, plums, peaches, apples, mangoes, strawberries, tomatoes, eggplant, and many more. The southwestern quadrant held the Maze, a huge intricate puzzle made of tightly interwoven trees which took hours to escape from; and the northwestern quadrant held an exquisite garden with fountains, trellises, and benches, as large as the gardens at Tíaldari Hall. All kinds of exotic plants grew here; plants that glowed, plants that poisoned, plants that healed . . . the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit flourished in the enchanted atmosphere.

The five newcomers were stunned. Arya let out a soft breath. 'It's . . . magnificent!' Eragon nudged her, smiling, pointing to the closest flowers; velvety black blossoms with throats of royal blue. She walked over to them and knelt, caressing them with tender fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes ever so slightly misty. 'Eragon . . . you should not have.'

He shrugged. 'I wanted to. Wiol ono.' He could not believe his audacity, but she had not thrust him away, so perhaps . . .

The others moved on, leaving them alone together.

†

She ducked her head, pretending to study the flowers. The tears brimmed over, tracing a path down her left cheek. She did not know why she was affected so; it was just . . . his thoughtfulness, his care for her; it was touching. She managed to brush her tears away without him noticing, glad that the Riders had gone ahead with the elves. Eragon still waited next to her. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Arya, we must continue if we wish to stay with the others.'

'Of course.' She rose, managing to keep a tolerable control of herself-

-until she saw the _other _flowers.

Creepers laden with pretty, pale blue, bell-shaped blooms decked an arched, intricate metal trellis. She quickly strode to them, and stroked them carefully. 'Loivissa,' she murmured.

Eragon said, 'I was unable to gild them for you, but if you are satisfied . . .' She could_ hear _that grin in his voice.

She looked at him, meeting his eyes squarely, and opened her mouth, full of emotion. She longed to say the words that lay heavy on her tongue, but as she gazed into his now-inquiring eyes . . . she could not. Not now.

She abruptly turned away and started walking, muttering mechanically, 'We must stay with the others.'

Her heart ached for him. Now, she was sure. Now, if he asked, she would gladly be with him. Three fretful years apart, with rare mirror-conversations . . . they had indeed taken their toll. Fírnen had been so worried about her. She smiled ruefully, remembering his concern. But Eragon was not as he used to be . . . he had changed. Gone was the enthusiastic, curious, love-struck boy, and in his place was a polite, confident man who was so adept at controlling his face that she had no idea what he was thinking!

Oh, what she would give to have him back; her familiar friend, her constant companion, her soothing comforter . . . her precious love. She had no idea if he was even the same person, no idea if he felt the same. . .

They made their way to the spacious dining hall for lunch. She was preoccupied; she ate but sparingly, though the food was delicious.

The rest of the day, she was shown over the whole Hall, but she could not concentrate on what she was seeing. She received a few impressions- well-constructed, beautiful, and enormous; but she was mainly focused on what she could do about Eragon.

By the time her head lay on her pillow, she had decided. Tomorrow, she _would_ tell Eragon what she felt-and hang the consequences. He had promised her that his feelings wouldn't change.

He'd better keep that promise. He _had _to keep that promise. If her heart was broken again . . .

She wasn't sure it could ever be mended.

†

Ilianbaen-place of happiness

Wiol ono- for you


	3. Chapter 2: Finally!

**A/N: This chapter is going to have the first AryaXEragon scene! Quite good, if I do say so myself. BTW, words in the ancient language are italicized with quotes. Italicized words with no quotes are thoughts.**

**Disclaimer: The awesome Christopher Paolini owns everything. I only own Selena, Jack, Evandar(the second), Elleya, Aiedail- basically all the kids in this story-Osra, Mánya, Akhtar, Jethran, Këyal, Layla, Ravûn, Dreya, Sorya, Katara, Dara, Celesté, Zelíe, Rosalie, Kitai, Tavros, Senshi, Ikran, Caspian, and Lífaen.**

†

Arya was awoken by a soft knock on her door. 'Enter,' she called.

Eragon tentatively stepped inside the room, and her heart stopped. She was barely dressed!

She could feel heat rising in her face to the tips of her pointy ears. Why, oh why did she have to blush now? She could only hope that the dim light and her honey skin would succeed in concealing it.

'I apologise for awaking you at this early time, Svit-Kona, but I must needs show you something before the others wake.'

'Of course. If you could step outside the room for a moment, I will be with you shortly.'

As the door closed, she berated herself. Why was she being so formal? That wasn't going to help her! She quickly threw on a tunic and a pair of leggings, ran a comb through her thick hair, and was outside the door in a minute. He smiled. Her heart stopped. Again.

_If you liked him anymore, I'd be trying to kiss him myself._

_Fírnen, keep your mouth shut._

_It is._

_Then keep your . . . mind . . . shut! _Even as she thought that she knew how inane it sounded, and blocked her dragon as he started laughing.

They set off.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'The Dragon Room, Svit-Kona.' He faced straight ahead, moving swiftly with his long,easy stride.

'Would you please stop calling me that?' Her quiet words were tinged with pain. She hated this smooth, formal stranger. 'My name is Arya, and therefore that is what I should be called. Is that not so?'

His face, as he turned to give her a quick look, was expressionless. 'As you wish, Svi- Arya.'

They crossed from the South Wing to the North wing, passing through the garden. It was so vast that it took them fifteen minutes to cross, even with their elvish speed. Once they reached the North Wing, Eragon looked around furtively, and then pressed a tiny button set in the stone wall of the main corridor. The section of wall to their right slid noiselessly upward, and there was . . . nothing. Naught but a small room, empty of any furnishing.

Aryas' brow furrowed slightly as she sought an explanation. Surely this was not the Dragon Room?

Eragon quickly went over to the top left corner of the room and knelt. Placing his hand on the floor, he muttered, '_Reveal.' _A line of light flashed from his palm and traced a large square on the dusty floor. The square of light glowed for a moment before fading into oblivion. There, on the floor, was now the clearly marked outline of a trapdoor. 'Ladrín,' Eragon commanded. The trapdoor quietly opened, revealing a set of stone steps heading underground. By every seventh step, two red Erisdar glowed on either wall.

'After you.' Eragon moved back to let Arya enter the passageway. She stepped down carefully, he eyes adjusting to the gloom. Once they did, it was a simple matter to descend, though the steps were steep. The staircase spiralled downwards, deeper into the ground.

After nearly eighty steps, by her reckoning, they reached a tall set of narrow,gilded doors, exquisitely carved with scenes from the dragons' history. There was Du Fyrn Skulblaka, the time of the Riders, their near extinction, and their revival. Eragon was there, cradling an egg in the forest. He now said, '_I, Eragon Shadeslayer, have the permission of Umaroth to eneter this room.' _And the doors swung inward to reveal the Dragon Room.

The Dragon Room was a large, octagonal room. At its center stood Cuaroc, a motionless statue. A huge bronze brazier burned bright behind him, casting him in deep shadow. The Room was lined with shelves all the way up to the high ceiling. The shelves on its left side held the eggs while the other shelves held the Eldunarí, which pulsed with a steady light. There was no need for the Erisdar here; the fire and the Eldunarí provided all the light needed to see.

Eragon then said, '_I, Eragon Shadeslayer, give Arya Dröttning permission to enter the Dragon Room_', and she found herself able to step inside. She knew she should be awestruck, but she had seen this place in Saphiras' memories that had reached her through Fírnen too many times to admire the Room itself; what she revered was the fact that this room contained the last fragment of the dragons' history, as well as their last hope for survival.

Arya gave the room a cursory glance, and something caught her eye. She walked up to a silver dragon egg three feet wide and just touched it with her fingertips. 'Eragon, will you give me this egg as part of the next batch?' There was something special about this egg. It had a sense of destiny about it; a sense that it would bridge an important gap.

'Of course, if you wish it, Arya. Would you like to choose the others as well?'

After some time, she chose a blue egg, a white egg, and a green egg to go with the silver one. All the while, she kept up a flow of light, easy chatter with Eragon, and he responded as easily. It seemed as though she was getting her old friend back . . .

_Arya, the sun is up. _Fírnens' voice startled her. _You should get back soon._

_Thank you, my prince._ She hadn't realised how late it was getting. He responded with a wave of affection at the endearment, knowing that he was forgiven for his teasing.

_May we fly today?_ He was almost pleading.

_Of course! I'm dying to fly through the Tower._ His joy caused her to grin broadly.

'What is it?' Eragon had noticed.

She tapped her temple. 'Fírnen. He was informing me that the sun has risen.'

He nodded. 'Yes, we should leave. None must know we were here.'

'Why not?' she asked, as they left the Room and started climbing the stairs. 'Do you think the students will endanger the Eldunarí? Their dragons do not have such bad judgement.'

'I have no doubt of the dragons' judgement,' he responded. 'I have noticed how they seem to have taken the care to have chosen young and . . . physically pleasing Riders; I suspect to put the public at ease. No one would suspect Zelíe of being a danger. But I wish to be safe; I will introduce them to the concept of Eldunarí in a year.'

By this time they had reached the small antechamber. Eragon climbed out first, and then courteously offered a hand to assist her. She made no move to take it, but simply looked at him with a slight smile, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled and withdrew his hand. She gracefully climbed out and moved to the corridor.

'You should know me better by now.' She turned to face him.

He smiled, but his voice was touched with . . . regret? 'I wish I did.'

She was forever thankful that at just that moment, Saphira and Fírnen appeared at the end of the corridor, for she had had absolutely no idea what to reply.

_You're welcome, _Fírnen said. She smiled ruefully.

_I suppose it's too much too hope that you haven't told Saphira how I feel about Eragon?_

_You would suppose right, _he said cheerily.

She shared her exasperation with him, but he was not at all remorseful.

_I know you're dying to ask, Arya._

_Ask what? I don't know what you're talking about._

_Hard to believe that when you can read my mind, _he said dryly._ You're dying to ask if Eragon still loves you, because you're frightened by who he has become._

_He hasn't become anyone. He's just the same._

_Exactly what Saphira said. So you can stop worrying._

_I wasn't-_

_Of course you weren't. So, when are we going to fly?_

She glared at him, but decided to let it pass; it wasn't worth the energy.

_Perhaps in the afternoon._

'What will you be doing with the Riders today?' she asked Eragon.

'I will tell them the history of the Riders, what it means to be a Rider, and our abilities. I also wish to learn more about them,' he replied, as he touched the button that would bring the wall down again.

'I see. Only . . .'

'Yes?' She thought she might be mistaken, but had she seen a hint of eagerness in his eyes?

Did she dare . . .?

'I wished to speak to you. Privately. Is there any place we could be alone?' She had taken the plunge. Hopefully . . .

'Yes, there is any number of empty rooms here. But perhaps in the evening?'

'Of course. I will see you then.'

She abruptly wheeled about and left, concious of a desire to leap into the air, shouting with ecstasy.

†

Eragons' head spun as he watched Aryas' graceful figure receding. Had that really just happened? Had Arya just asked to be with him alone?

_Oh, get over it, _Saphira groaned. _This would be so much simpler if you were a dragon._

_It would, wouldn't it? _Eragon grinned, but his face grew warm as he remembered how Saphira and Fírnen had reacted to each other the first time they'd met.

He now adopted a patronising tone.

_But you see, Miss Saphira, this is part of the magic of being in love. I wouldn't expect a mere dragon to understand._

_A mere dragon? Dragons are the most powerful, wise, majestic, beautiful, graceful, brave, ferocious-_

_Vain, proud, touchy, _he continued dryly.

Her huge paw struck him in the chest and pinned him to the floor, bringing her huge head directly over him. His head slammed into the hard floor and he saw stars.

_Saphira, that hurt!_ he complained.

Her eyelid went _snick!_ as she blinked, obscuring the giant blue orb of her eye for a heartbeat. After a moment, she released him. He slowly got up, rubbing his head.

_You're lucky I don't shake you like a hatchling for that comment, _she sniffed.

He grinned ingratiatingly at her, and felt her mood soften. He patted her side.

_Let's go get some breakfast._

After breakfast, Eragon and his students gathered in the spacious training hall, which was stocked with every weapon imaginable, from maces and axes to bows and lances. They sat in cross-legged positions on the floor, all the new Riders listening intently to Eragon, who was describing to them the history of the Riders. He knew he shouldn't rush his narration, but he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so that he could meet with Arya. He took a deep breath and composed himself. It would not benefit either the Riders or Alagäesia if he did not teach well.

He started off with the reasons for the formation of the Riders – Du Fyrn Skulblaka – then went on to speak about Anurin, Vrael, and Galbatorix and the Wyrdfell. They were getting closer to the part that Eragon suspected they most wanted to hear; about how he had defeated Galbatorix. He smiled to himself and continued.

Next came Brom and his role in starting the Varden and arranging the deaths of several of the Forsworn. Eragon could not speak about this without getting a small lump in his throat. When he saw Zelíe looking at him quizzically, he said shortly, 'He was my father.'

He ignored their varied expressions and continued about how Hefring had stolen Saphiras' egg, how Arya had ferried it back and forth between the elves and the Varden, how Durza had attacked her due to which she had sent it to him, how she had hatched for him, how his uncle had been killed by the Ra'zac-

'What are Ra'zac?' asked Ravûn.

'They are a race of evil, vile creatures that prey upon humans and hatch from eggs and look like black, twisted humans until they reach maturity, whereupon they shed their exoskeletons and transform into huge, hairless creatures with leathery wings, called Lethrblaka in the ancient language. They cannot use magic but can incapacitate humans with their gaze, which inspires fear. They are creatures of the dark and hate light and deep water. They are now extinct; I killed the last one. They had been eradicated under the old Riders.'

'Oh.' The dwarfs' voice was suddenly very small.

He continued his narrative, struggling to keep his voice from breaking when he talked about Broms' death; he had talked about it before, but somehow it was different with these youngsters listening, their solemn faces giving hints of the sympathy they felt.

He continued speaking, his deep voice filling the room. Two hours had passed by the time he had finished recounting all of his experiences. The questions his listeners had put to him were extremely pertinent and confirmed that he had succeeded at drawing sufficiently accurate conclusions about their characters. Osra, especially, was deeply intelligent; she rarely spoke, but when she did, it was either a clever remark or an insightful question.

When their session was over, it wwas far past noon and he felt fairly certain that all of his students now knew the basics of magic and had a clear idea about what being a Rider meant.

After lunch, he watched the four new dragons twist and spin though the Tower while Fírnen and Saphira watched, giving suggestions and rather harsh criticism.

By the time he was though with them, the stars were twinkling bright in the blue-black sky. He set off to look for Arya, and finally found her on a terrace with Fírnen, the breeze playfully tossing her long hair about. Her slim hand rested lightly on his huge green side, rising and falling with his breathing. He was about to call out to her, but paused, struck by the majestic sight they presented together. He must have made some small sound though, for she turned. She nodded and came towards him. Suddenly, Fírnens' huge head swung between them. He ruffled her glossy hair with his breath, and slowly blinked. She smiled faintly, and patted his head. The jade dragon moved his head back again, allowing her to pass, and she came up to Eragon, completely composed and dignified.

'Good evening, Arya. There is an empty room just here to talk . . .'

He showed her into a small room nearby, that was furnished with naught but a small couch and a far smaller table with a single, dusty candle on it. French windows led onto the very same terrace, and long, white curtains fluttered gently by them. They both sat down awkwardly on the couch, Eragon having lit the candle; it was barely big enough for the two of them.

'So . . .' He tried to be nonchalant, which was hard seeing as they were together on a tiny couch and she was barely four inches away from him. 'What was it you wished to talk to me about?"

She was still perfectly calm.

†

She was trying extremely hard to look perfectly calm, but her heart was hammering somewhere in her throat. She didn't want to do this, she didn't want to do this . . .

But she had to.

She cleared her throat and began, 'Do you remember the day you met Fírnen?'

'Of course.' His voice revealed no particular excitement, but his chocolate eyes were suddenly glowing.

'I thought about what you said over the past three years, and . . .'

'And?' he prompted.

'And I realised that I . . .' Suddenly the words were stuck in her throat. She found it very difficult to meet his eyes. For gods sake! She was a queen, was she not? The daughter of Evandar and Islanzadí! But she had never been this nervous, not even when she had had to tell her mother about the yawë . . . And she had been doing so well, too!

'That you . . .?'

'That I was in love with you,' she said rapidly, feeling like the words were being pulled out of her. 'But I was not; I mean, I am still not certain, and-'

'We'll have to make up your mind then, won't we?' He cupped her left cheek in one warm hand, leaning forward eagerly.

She put her hands on his chest, pushing him away (though not very hard), and quickly said, 'Eragon, I don't think-'

'Don't be frightened, Arya.' He gathered her hands together in his free one, holding them against his chest. He was five inches away from her . . .

She managed to gather her wits enough to say, 'Frightened? I am most certainly not-'

'Is that why you're not pushing me away?' he murmured, his eyes hypnotizing pools of dark chocolate. Two inches . . .

She whispered, 'Yes, but-'

And then his soft lips brushed against hers gently and she _knew _that he was the love of her life and she was floating, floating away from this earth and it was the best feeling she had ever had and she never wanted this to end, she wanted to stay here kissing this amazing person for the rest of her life-

She flung up her arms around his neck with a half-whimper and pulled herself as close to him as she could, running her fingers into his hair, clutching it as though she were drowning to hold him pressed to her.

He slid his free arm about her waist, slid the other one about her shoulders, and pulled her onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. She curved perfectly into him and moved one hand down to his cheek. He moved his warm hand over hers, keeping it there.

They only broke the kiss ten minutes later, stopping for want of breath. She rested her head against his shoulder, the two breathing in unison.

After a time, Eragon said, 'Is that a yes, then?' His voice was alive with humor.

She smiled, and answered teasingly, 'Well, I don't know . . .'

'Oh, don't you?' He slowly slid his lips from her cheek to her neck, following the line of her jaw. She shivered slightly. When he reached the corner of her jaw and neck and pressed down with his teeth ever so slightly, she simply could not completely stifle the low moan that escaped her.

He chuckled. Then they kissed again, not passionately, like before, but softly, gently, slowly, lovingly. When they broke apart again, he arched an eyebrow, and she nodded, a shy smile adorning her face. He suddenly gave a huge laugh and, scooping her up, stood and strode out the door.

She laughed high and sweet, causing echoes to fill the corridor. She tried to get down, but in vain. 'I can walk, Eragon!' she protested half-heartedly.

He looked down at her and smiled, 'Humor me.' At that moment, not Illirea, not Du Weldenvarden, not Tíaldari Hall, not even Tronjheim could hold a candle to the beauty of the expression in his deep, warm eyes.

That was the moment she decided that she wanted to make that expression appear on his face for every single minute of the rest of her life.

He walked as slowly as possible, but they still reached her room within ten minutes. She expected him to put her down at the door, but he opened it by muttering, 'Ladrín,' and carried her to bed. Laying her down tenderly, he kissed her forehead and smoothed the sheets down over her.

'Eka lëya ono, Arya Dröttning,' he whispered, his eyes burning. I love you, Queen Arya.

She sat up, pondering her answer, suddenly nervous. She had been so sure until this moment that she loved him completely. But the ancient language would allow for no uncertainity. Was she _completely_ sure?

Then, she remembered the three years of agony, the waiting, the joy when she saw him, and above all, that expression in his eyes in the hallway, and she _knew._

'Eka lëya ono, Eragon Shadeslayer.'

†

Du Fyrn Skullblaka-the Dragon War

'**Lëya' is a word I made up for love, since there wasn't a word in the ancient language for it. Did you like the fluff scene? Do you want another one? Review and tell me! Please, I need crticism so badly . . . Thanks to Remedial for my first review, and to all you other guys who are following or have favourited this story!**


	4. Chapter 3 : Leavetaking

**A/N: This is really small, kinda like an interim chapter; sorry! But the next chapter is going to be surprising, it's so epic! I think it's my favourite.**

They met in that room everyday, after that.

They talked in murmurs, comforatable in each other's arms. They talked about their dreams and secrets and hopes and passions . . .

Sometimes, they didn't talk at all. During those times, their dragons forebore to disturb them and kept to themselves, remembering their Riders' similar forbearance when they were doing much the same thing.

During the day, they were sure not to give away any hint of what they felt for each other, but Eragon could not simply ignore Arya. A warm look, a hint of a smile, a slight nod; these sustained him throughtout the day. Eragon hated that they acted as such, but he knew that Arya was still insecure and tentative, so he let her have her way. When they talked in public, they talked politely and smoothly. Arya told Eragon about happenings in Alagäesia, how Murtagh had helped discover a small continent to the west, and how a flourishing trade had been set up between the two countries. Eragon told her about how they had discovered the native tribes in the lush forest surrounding the Hall, and how they had only managed to make peace with one tribe till now; apparently, they were scared of the dragons.

In the meantime, the Riders were shaping up well. Each of them had their own unique personality and fighting style.

Ravûn was working extremely hard, training nearly every minute of the day; pounding away with his weapons like he had something to prove, like he had to be the best he could to show his clan he was meant to be a Rider. His height was a disadvantage, but he never let that stop him; that bubbly exterior hid a core of steel. He was usually exhausted by evening, but in the mornings he was bright and excited, full of chatter. Even after training, he always had a kind word and a smile for everyone. He was surprisingly good at controlling his mind.

Osra was normally calm and patient, but a dangerous fighter when she had to be, or when she was angered. She had nearly pulverized Këyal once. Her height, power, and the society she came from gave her an edge over the Zelíe and Ravûn. But she was slowed down by her bulk, and was still unable to handle a bow well, though she practised whenever she could. Her mind was calm and orderly, resisting all but Eragon's strongest attacks.

Zelíe, of course, was very dedicated; almost more dedicated than Ravûn. She had had no idea how to handle any weapons at all; Eragon suspected she came from one of Belatona's rich families. But she trained intensely, struggling to hone her skills, including controlling her mind. She had very strong emotions and could rarely control them. She was improving, though, slowly but steadily.

Këyal, of course, did nothing to help. Eragon had been right in thinking that he would cause trouble. He treated all three of his fellow students with barely-veiled disdain. He held himself aloof from them and trained alone. When Eragon asked his students to spar with a partner, he shrugged as though he could care less and waited for his partner to approach him. The other three had actually worked out a lots system which they used before each class to decide who would spar with him. The unlucky one would do their best, but usually be disarmed within five seconds flat and be faced by the elf's sneer. Osra had had to physically restrain Zelíe from flying at him more than once. He only acted really insolent when Eragon wasn't around, though, and Eragon wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation because Këyal was an exemplary student. He was perfect at everything he knew how do to, and what he didn't know he learnt fast.

Two months flew by, and it was time for Arya to leave. It was a bright, crystal morning, the air shimmering with a hint of rain. Fírnen was in the process of tapping snouts with the five younger dragons. Eragon's heart twisted painfully as he watched Arya say her goodbyes to everyone who lived at the castle. He wished that she would never leave him.

†

Finally, she reached Eragon. He was staring down at her, uncertainity in his eyes.

Not knowing what else to say, she said, 'Farewell, Shadeslayer.' Formally, distantly.

'Farewell, Shadeslayer.' The left corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. Her mouth mirrored his involuntarily before she remembered that she was surrounded by people.

She turned abruptly and climbed on to Fírnen, avoiding Eragon's eyes. A rush of indecision and embarrasment burned her cheeks.

Fírnen leapt into laborious flight, the thunder of his wings hurting her sensitive ears. They gradually gained height and speed. He banked to the right, flying into the setting sun.

Regret was starting to twist its way into her mind, now. Why had she done that? He was bound to think that all their embraces and whispered confidences in that tiny room were meaningless to her now. Wasn't he? Why hadn't she been more expressive? What was she so scared of?

She leaned forward onto Fírnens' neck, closing her eyes tiredly, misery washing over her. Perhaps they weren't meant to be, after all . . .

It was a short while later that a faint, gentle prescence pressed against her mind. She granted it cautious entrance, ready for an attack. A jumble of words was thrust into her mind, and the prescence vanished. She frowned, carefully unravelling the foreign thoughts.

Only one sentence. It was from him! No accusation, no worry, no inquiry.

Only four words.

_Come back to me. _


	5. Chapter 4: Someone broke in!

Inheritance5

*:I enjoyed the way the story was laid out so that arya kept her shyness and the fact that you are a good writer and take time to think out the order of events and still keep all the juicy details if yu have any rough drafts that you think are no good pleaze publish them anyways i gaurantee they are still bettemost any story out there or*

**A/N: I have no idea who wrote that, but thank you, it's really sweet! To all the guest reveiwers as well, thank you so much for your support. Also, I'm really sorry that this chapter has taken so long; I've been a bit busy. I've got exams coming up as well, so don't expect Chapter 5 too soon . . . sorry about that! I particularly like this chapter, because it introduces one of my favourite Riders-in- training. Enjoy, and, as always, pleasepleasepleaseplease review! **

A year had trickled by, and Eragon had passed his twenty-second birthday a month earlier. He hadn't celebrated it or told anyone about it; for as he said to Saphira, _My getting older is not a miracle, and it is more important for my students to concentrate on their studies._

At present, he was spending the evening sparring with Osra in the huge training room, trying to teach her to block faster. She _was_ trying, but she simply could not overcome the disadvantage of her bulk. He spun to the right and struck, not taking advantage of the opening she had left in her defenses, which gave her time to lift her sword to block him. They held the position for a moment, then disengaged.

"Osra, you have to try harder. We have been working on this single issue for nigh on a week now." He was not harsh, only stern.

She cast her eyes downwards. He knew she hated her insufficiency, but he still had to press her. "I apologise, Master." Her rough voice was layered with embarrasment and self-directed disgust. "I will do better." She sounded as angry as the storm that howled outside.

He opened his mouth to reply encouragingly, but the words were choked in his throat as a ward flared to life in the back of his mind. At the same instant, Umaroth spoke with panic, _Eragon, get to the Dragon Room NOW! There are two intruders examining the eggs and I know not where Cuaroc is!_

Eragon was stock-still for a fraction of a second, immobilized by shock. Then Saphira roared in fury, and he leapt into motion, leaving the room as fast as his elvish speed could take him, Brisingr still in hand. He just barely heard a faint, "Master, what-?" from Zelíe before the rush of wind in his ears blocked out everything else. He quickly contacted the elves, but only Ayana, Talía and Blödhgarm were close enough to the Room to get there with him. Not for the first time, he cursed the sheer size of the Hall.

A huge thunderclap sounded, startling him, yet providing adrenaline that helped him run even faster.

_We have to have a faster way to travel through the Hall,_ he thought. This thought was secondary, though. Even as he sprinted through the Garden, he could not bring himself to believe that someone had actually broken into the Dragon Room. It was protected by the most secure spells possible to devise; only someone with permission from him, the elves, Saphira or one of the Eldunarícould possibly enter. Also, how would the intuders know of the Eldunarí, the most closely-guarded secret of the dragons? And how would they know the precise location of the button and the trapdoor? What had happened to Cuaroc?

He removed the spell that blocked Brisingr's edge, even as he ran.

_Maybe they think the eggs are jewels! _Saphira's mind-voice was colored with anger, surprise, and frustration at the fact that she wouldn't be able to enter the Dragon Room.

Eragon bared his teeth and willed his legs to move even faster. If anything had happened to the eggs . . .

But again, how would the intruders even know about the Room?

He skidded to a stop in front of the wall and slammed his fist into the button. Before the panel had even slid halfway upwards he ducked into the antechamber, barking out, "Ladrín!" The floor glowed in a square and the trapdoor swung open. He leapt down the stairs, hearing the sound of light, urgent footsteps above him; reinforcements had arrived.

As he jumped down the last five steps with the words of the opening phrase on his lips, the elves gathered behind him. Tala gripped his upper arm, murmuring, "Caution, Argetlam. Those who could enter here must surely have some great power. We should enter quietly, so we can take them by surprise."

He gave a short nod, and they all linked their minds together so as to be stronger in case of a mental attack. As Eragon laid a hand on a door, he paused. He thought he had heard- but no, it could not be.

Yet, there it was again; the sound of . . . a _child_ in the Dragon Room!

Blödhgarm cocked his head, ears swiveling forward as he listened to a boy's voice saying, "_Get up, Senshi! We have to leave! Can you walk?" _in . . . the_ ancient language?_

_How is this possible?_ Saphira exclaimed. _How has a child broken into the Room? Why, even Galbatorix would have struggled to break the enchantments protecting it!_

_Two children, actually, _Eragon replied, as a shaky female voice replied, "_I can stand . . ." _Then, "_My queen?" _The voice was panicked and uncertain.

He silently opened the door, and beheld two dark haired, brown-skinned children on the far side of the Room. Cuaroc was a silent statue by the brazier, which was burning low. The girl was just getting up, supported by the boy kneeling next to her. A purple hatchling lay on the floor by the girl, purple, jewel- like shards of eggshell littered the floor, and the boy balanced a gold egg in one hand.

Eragon pushed his bewilderment aside; for now, he had to concentrate on discovering whether these children were a threat and how they had discovered the Room. The four of them stepped forward as quietly as they could, but they must have made some tiny noise, for the boy whipped around, staring at them with luminous gold eyes. He hissed a warning to the girl, who quickly stood up. As the quartet swiftly advanced into the cavernous Room, the boy tucked the gold egg under his arm and muttered something to the girl, who shook her head vigorously, fear distorting her features. The boy viciously snapped at her, and she reluctantly picked up the hatchling, first seeming terrified, then relieved. Eragon guessed that she had expected another shock upon touching the dragon.

The girl murmured to the boy, and he shook his head. She glared at him. Her next words were loud enough for Eragon to hear, albeit faintly, _"We have no choice! The queen has abandoned us, and we are trapped. The least we can do is attempt to escape."_

It was now the turn of the boy to acquiesce. He nodded sharply and gripped her hand. The two waited until Eragon and the elves had passed the brazier, then seperated and ran along the walls of the room, aiming for the huge, gilded doors. A futile attempt; they would be caught before they managed to cover half the distance. Blödhgarm and Eragon headed off to intercept the girl, while Ayana and Talía went for the boy. As the girl saw them approaching, she increased her speed, almost falling on the smooth, stone floor. Eragon saw that she was wet through and barefoot. Another step and she did fall, hitting her head on the floor with a sickening _crack_. Eragon winced in sympathy. Surprisingly, the girl did not seem much hurt, only disoriented. She staggered to her feet. Seeing them so close seemed to drive her confusion away. She gave a small gasp and pressed herself against the wall, pawing at a sheath with one hand, hugging the hatchling closer to her chest. She managed to draw her dagger and raised it, ready to fight. As soon as she held it, she stopped trembling quite so much; she seemed to derive comfort from the touch of a familiar weapon. Her arm remained perfectly steady, betraying that she had been in fights countless times before. Her eyes darted behind them at intervals, watching the boy evade the female elves. Eragon did not turn around, but he could hear the boy's heavy breathing as he sought to escape and the thoughts of the elves as they tried to intercept him.

Blödhgarm shifted slightly, and her eyes immediately flashed to his face, watching him warily.

Eragon wasn't quite sure what to do; this girl was obviously no threat, or she wouldn't have run. She had entered the Room with no knowledge of magic, and yet she spoke in the ancient language. She had no idea of what a dragon was, but one had still hatched for her! She was an enigma. But was she destined to be a Rider?

Whether she was or not, a dragon had hatched for her. Eragon had to speak with her. For that, he needed to make her trust him, to reassure her that he was no threat. But before he could say a word, he heard a tiny tap-tap-tap from the other side of the Room. He whirled around, staring in disbelief as the gold egg started to hatch. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and watched as a small gold snout poked outside the egg. The boy was astounded. After a moment, he touched it tentatively-

-and fell screaming and thrashing to the floor as the terrible, ice-fire sensation rushed through him. Ayana quickly caught the egg as it fell, then knelt by the boy.

'Kitai!' the girl screamed, causing Eragon to start and face her. Tears were trickling down her cheeks, which somehow made her suddenly seem desperate and past her breaking point. One sensed that she would throw all caution to the winds if it would somehow save her brother. She feinted forward, causing Eragon and Blödhgarm to reflexively raise their blades

"_Who are you?" _she hissed._ "What is this . . . thing?" _She held the dragon up like it was diseased._ "Answer me, or it dies!" _She touched her dagger-tip to its throat.

Blödhgarm hissed savagely. She twisted the point of the blade, causing the hatchling to mewl fretfully. Tears still fell from her gold eyes like the rain outside.

Eragon would not believe she would actually kill her dragon, but she looked as though she would. Clearly, she had to be reassured. He sheathed Brisingr, motioned for Blödhgarm to do the same, and raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"_Please, do not hurt it." _He spoke in the ancient language, like her._ "It will not harm you, and neither will we."_

Her eyes widened. She slowly sheathed her dagger.

"_We will not harm you," he repeated. "I apologise for scaring you. My name is Eragon."_

She cradled the dragon against her chest once more, seeming to relax slightly_. "Eragon." _She rolled the name around in her mouth, tasting the syllables.Warily, she asked,_ "Eragon, will this hurt me?" _She held out the dragon. Her eyes were now somehow pleading.

"_Not by intent. It is a child; it knows not what it does."_

"_I felt something . . . in my mind . . ." _She shuddered.

"_It was hungry, was it not?"_

She blinked, surprised._ "Yes. Also, it gave me this." _She tilted her palm outward, and the dim light glinted off of her newly formed gedwëy ignasia.

Eragon extended his own right palm. Her eyes darted to his face in surprise._ "You have one as well?" _

"_Yes, but she is rather larger than yours," _he smiled.

A small answering smile spread naturally across her face, banishing her hunted look and revealing that her wild features had a certain air of wild prettiness about them. Her ebony hair was beginning to dry off, and it curled charmingly, though it was bleached a dry brown from long exposure to the elements. Her gold eyes were large in her dark face, and her voice was surprisingly musical. She wore a rough dress, fashioned from leaves and animal hide. Eragon realized that she must be one of the tribals who lived in the forests to the north. But how on earth had a tribal learnt the ancient language?

_If it comes to that, _said Saphira, startling him,_ how did she get in? And how did she pick the exact egg to hatch for her?_

_Those are questions that will have to wait for later_, he replied_. Right now, she and her brother need to be taken care of._

"_I can answer any questions you may have," _he told the girl, "_but this is neither the time nor the place. At present, we need to feed your dragon and get you into some dry clothes. Are you hungry?"_

She cocked her head, evidently not expecting this, then gave a short nod.

"_Good," _he said briskly_. "We will get you some food. However, I do, need to ask you one thing . . . "_

She was listening intently, her bright eyes never leaving his face.

"_What is your name?"_

She blinked, surprised._ "My name is Senshi." _She wasn't hugging the wall anymore.

He laid a gentle hand on her back, starting to propel her forward. She shied away, reaching for her dagger instinctively.

Eragon felt a sudden flash of irritation, but he suppressed it. He knelt, staring directly into her eyes.

"_Senshi, are you afraid me?"_

She responded instantly._ "No."_

"_Are you wary of me?"_

She hesitated, then blurted out,_ "Yes." _

"_I am your friend, and I swear never to knowingly harm you in any way. I wish only to help you; and I think I will become your teacher as well, ere long. I ask only that you trust me in return. Can you do that for me?" _As he spoke, he possesed himself of her cold hand and pressed it lightly.

She met his kind gaze unwaveringly for a few long moments, her face unreadable: then she nodded, a sharp, descisive movement, and said confidently,_ "Yes, I can do that."_

Eragon was surprised at how happy those few words made him feel. He genuinely respected this girl and wanted her to trust him. He smiled warmly and stood, letting go of her hand._ "How about we get you and your dragon that food, then?"_

"_My what?" _She was bewildered.

He nodded to the hatchling, which was nibbling at her fingers._ "It is called a dragon."_

"_Oh." _

"_Come." _She followed him and Blodhgarm as they approached the others.

A rich chuckle from the boy, made loud by reverberating echoes, reached them, and Eragon perceived that Senshi's step grew quicker and her attitude more relaxed. She obviously had very strong feelings for the boy. He was probably her brother; there was a marked resemblance between the two.

The boy was tall and well-muscled, perhaps about fifteen years old. His features were honed to sharpness by years of strife, his face lean. He wore only a kind of loincloth made of leaves and hides, like Senshi. A dagger hung in its sheath from a cord slung about his waist. He shared his thick, dark, sun-bleached hair with his sister, as well as his eyes, complexion, and wild beauty. He moved with a kind of coiled alertness, as though the energy in his spare frame could barely be contained. In fact, he rather reminded Eragon of Blodhgarm; someone who would not seek out conflict, but if it became necessary, would fight with savage enjoyment.

The boy's eyes flickered from Eragon to Blödhgarm as he tried to decide whtether they were threats or not, and his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. Senshi spoke a few soft words in a strange language, and the boyrelaxed.

The two small groups had reached each other by now. Ayana sang out, "We have convinced Kitai that we are no threat, but he requies some further proof in the form of a meal."

Eragon grinned in response. "_You are Senshi's brother?"_ he asked the boy.

"_We are twins."_

"_And your name is Kitai?"_

"_Yes."_

_I am right oustside the panel,_ Spahira said suddenly. _Hurry up, would you?_

_We're on our way. _

In another five minutes, the six of them had emerged from the trapdoor. As Eragon caused the panel to open, he wondered how the two would react to his dragon.

The panel slid up silently to reveal Saphira's huge, gleaming cerulean eye. Kitai instinctively jerked backwards, hissing. He yanked his dagger from its sheath and tried to drag his sister back with him. She, however, was fascinated, and shook him off, stepping forward. She raised one hand to touch Saphira's snout and, to Eragon's surprise, Saphira allowed the contact.

Senshi held her position for a few moments, then slowly moved away.

"_It is beautiful," _she breathed.

Saphira growled.

"_She," _Eragon corrected.

"_Oh." _Then,_ "She will understand if I speak to her?"_

Saphira growled louder and Eragon felt her thrust her mind against Senshi. The girl reeled and dropped to one knee. Her brother laid a protective hand on her soulder, firing anxious questions at her which she did not answer. Slowly, Saphira's creased snout relaxed and Senshi stood shakily. She bowed her head, sliently communicating with the huge dragon. Saphiras head cocked ever so slightly and she considered the girl thoughtfully before touching her snout to the girl's forehead, who smiled weakly. Spahira snorted.

She then moved on to Kitai. The boy stood stockstill as she swung her huge blue head around to face him. He did not sheathe his dagger.

Saphira appraised him critically and, giving him a condescending tap on the forehead, turned away and marched heavily down the corrider. Eragon hurried to keep up with her. Behind him, he heard Ayana talking to the duo in her soft voice.

_What was that all abou-_

_The boy is brave and skilled enough, but he lacks humility, _she cut across him._ The girl, however, is courageous as well as wise- or as wise as can be expected for one of her age. On the whole, she will make the better Rider._

_Are we going to train them, then?_

_Of course! What else did you mean to do?_

_They come from the forest._

_And you came from a farm. What of it?_

_How do we commuicate to their parents about what has happened?_

_I imagine the children will be able to do so themselves._

_The children have no idea of what a Rider is!_

_Is there not a reason the other younglings have addressed you as 'Master' for the past year?_

Eragon was doubtful, but upon further reflection, he realized that he had no other choice. They needed Riders. And besides, what else was to be done with the pair? Saphira was right.

_Of course I am. Now, go see that the hatchlings have food to eat; they are starving._

And she marched off. Eragon grimaced at her broad blue back.

He returned to the others. Only Ayana stayed behind; the other two had been in the process of restoring the last of the enslaved Eldunarí to sanity, and the task was rather urgent.

They went down to the light, airy kitchen and, after feeding the hatchlings with handfuls of meat and the twins with bread, took the them to their rooms and gave them dry clothes. Ten minutes later, the corridor reverberated with snores.

". . . so that's what happened," Eragon concluded. "Afterwards, I talked to the Eldunarí to see if they might have any ideas about how this occurred, and Valdr said he'd given them permission. When I asked him why, he only said, "Dellanir has ever been a great friend of mine." I suppose that means that Dellanir asked him to allow the twins into the Dragon Room, though how she contacted Valdr when she's been missing for the past five centuries and how she knew the children were potential Riders is more than I can fathom."

Nasuda frowned. "Dellanir. The ruler of the elves before Evandar?"

"Yes."

"And she is alive . . ." Her eyes shifted away as she mused on this new development. Eragon waited in silence, glad to have an excuse to stop talking; his throat was dry from repeating the story to Arya, Orrin, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog.

He returned to himself to hear Nasuada saying, "Never mind. That is a problem that will keep for later. You certainly haven't been bored at the Hall!"

He smiled "No, I haven't. Training the children is a surprisingly rewarding experience. And now that we're almost finished with the Eldunarí-"

A man's voice called out on Nasuadas side, his voice muffled by space, "Nasuada, are you in here?" The handle of the door in Nasudas conference room began to move.

The queen quickly called back, "I'm talking to Eragon!" The handle froze.

"Eragon, thank you for the update. I will speak to you later. At present I have some matters to attend to. Good bye, and keep well." She rose.

"But, Nasuada-"

The mirror went blank, showing only the Head Rider only his own bemused face. What was the queen hiding?

†

She turned, extending a welcoming hand. "You can come in now."

A tall, handsome man with dark hair entered. A gold circlet glittered on his brow, lending him an air of dignity. But that was forgotten as he enfolded Nasuada in a warm embrace, giving her an easy kiss. She smiled and drew back to see his face.

"Did he find out?" the man asked.

"No, but it was close."

"I still don't see why we're keeping it a secret. The whole of Alagaesia knows. He's bound to find out from someone."

"He won't. I want to surprise him. We are to accompany Arya with the next batch of eggs, are we not? He shall know then."

"That's in two years! Nasuada-"

She placed a brown finger on his lips. "Consider it a whim of mine. Did you not say once that you would die rather than leaving a wish of mine unfulfilled?"

"Iwas drunk then," he muttered, turning his head so her hand covered his stubbled cheek.

"Oh, so it no longer applies?"

His face softened. "Of course it does." He brushed the inside of her palm with his lips.

She stepped forward, and they stood with their foreheads together and arms intertwined, each supporting the other. "By the way, I have a surprise for you," she said softly. He raised an eyebrow.

She stood on tiptoe and whispered. His eyes widened in shock and he looked down at her, dumbstruck.

"You . . . you're . . . you're going to have . . . there's going to be -"

"An heir," she completed. "An heir to the throne of Alagaesia."

**(Sorry if the ending is a bit melodramatic, but I just can't end a chapter without a cliffhanger! Though this one isn't really much of a cliffhanger, it's super obvious who the man is, isn't it?)**


End file.
